The Greatness of Gratitude

I wake up to the sound of a fan whirring. I blink. A FAN. I groggily sit up, the sheer joy of electricity cracking dimples into my cheeks. I hop out of bed. It’s barely past seven and the world is already blistering. No matter. I squirt on more sunscreen. I squint at myself in the little mirror. Meh. Good enough. Minutes later I’m walking down the sandy road towards the beach. The palm trees rustle with the light breeze. I hear the cackle of the bright violet-turquoise rollers somewhere ahead. Winding my way around the corner I pass an overflowing water tank, gurgling with delight in its gluttony, the hose sitting idle forgotten by the gardener.  I think for half a second about scampering through the puddles, but am restrained by the thought of one thing: breakfast. Ah yes, a hearty farmers, or rather for us, a horseman’s breakfast. The best kind. I quicken my pace but try to refrain from breaking into a sweat. Too late. Finally, the white-washed rondavel with its rutted driveway comes into view. “WOOF!! WOOF!! AHWOOO!!” Instantly, six dogs rush up the hill, bounding towards me with barking, yowling, tail wagging, tongue lolling happiness. My favorites - big bear-like Chico, fluffy little Coco, energetic, curious Jingo,  and shy, sweet Jaime receive me with the type of dogged enthusiasm that makes me think today’s going to be the best day of my life. And who am I to doubt?

“Good morning daaaarling! How’d you sleep? Come, come! Eat! We have lots of rides today!” Mandy waves her hand at the table set in the shade of a huge beautiful tree. She disappears back into the kitchen. I sit down. I dig out a poached egg and serve myself a fair portion of sautéed veggies.  Not a moment later Pat rolls out of the doorway, sliding into his work shirt, voice booming, “No no darling, you must eat more than that! Here, have some yogurt. Have another egg. Oh and you must eat these mangoes!” He pauses at my hesitation, then says, with his eyes crinkling in delight, “What?! Are you on a diet??” We both burst out laughing. I shake my head. Clearly, they’ve started to know me too well. They have already figured out that “diet” has never been a word in my vocabulary ;) Soon, I’m joined at the table. I soak in the matronly English fussings of Mandy, and the teasing banter of Pat while he slathers his toast in double layers of butter and peanut butter.  Soon enough, we’re off again, this time to take our clients out for a day of horseback riding throughout the bush and beach of Vilanculos. We swing up into our saddles. We canter up the red dunes. I watch chestnut ears flick and point against the wind. I grab the dark mane in my hands.

It's just another day in paradise.

Riding Holly

The "104 Horses" book launch in Chibuene, with Mandy and Pat

Welcome to my life with Pat and Mandy Retzlaff, the wonderful Zimbabwean couple who have semi-adopted me into their lives in Chibuene since my first time horseback riding with Mozambique Horse Safari on my birthday last year.  I have wanted to write this post for months but could never quite express myself well enough to do them proper justice. Saying that they’re the kindest, most unquestioningly generous, supportive people I’ve met in my life is a glaring understatement.  They have given me more over the last few months than perhaps I’ll ever be able to repay. Meeting and coming to know them closely during my time in Mozambique has helped me realize something about “goodwill” - that one should not necessarily feel bad or guilty for charity given by others, especially those who have little extra to give. BUT, one must always be grateful for it. Not only have they fed me and provided me an amazing refuge from the challenging sometimes frustrating life in Mapinhane, Pat and Mandy also have taught me some important life lessons. I’ve not only learned how to give a horse antibiotics, heal a wound with lime powder, make soap with coconut oil, or take apart the body of a 4-wheeler for example, but also have been informally schooled in the proper etiquette and business rules required to work in the tourism and service industries.  But more on that another time. First, I want to share their own story with you.

Mandy and Pat are both white Africans. Mandy was born in Nigeria, Pat in Tanzania, and their families had already lived in Africa for a couple generations, moving around a fair amount.  They met each other in South Africa at university in the late 1970s and married soon after. They settled in Zimbabwe (or Rhodesia as it was known before Independence), bought a farm and started their family. Their dream was to create a legacy for their children, a place that could always be home, a place they could always return to. Biri Farm should have been that place. The whole family worked hard alongside their employed local black Zimbabweans to transform the wild bush into fields upon fields of crops – the same type of fields that once helped label Zimbabwe as the economic "bread-basket" of Africa, Then came Mugabe’s land invasions. The history of “land redistribution” policy in Zimbabwe (sparked by the Lancaster House Agreement) spans three decades and originally was intended to more equitably distribute land with compensation between the historically disenfranchised blacks and minority-whites. The reality however became much more malignant and violent. Here's the progression in a nutshell. Robert Mugabe was a freedom fighter in Zimbabwe’s war for independence. He gained popularity and won the vote for President, but then in 2000 proposed a referendum that would not only give him absolute power, but empower the government to acquire land compulsorily without compensation. The voting populace, largely black Zimbabwean, voted down the referendum the first time.  But a few days later, the pro-Mugabe war veterans organized marches on white-owned farmlands, forcing white families off their land and often killing white and black farm workers along the way. This onslaught of land invasions eventually arrived at the Retzlaff's Biri Farm. One afternoon, Mandy was delivered a hastily scribbled note that said she had less than four hours to leave with their lives and anything they could carry. 

To make a long story a little shorter (or even better, please read Mandy's book,“104 Horses: A Story of Farm and Family,Africa and Exile), the Retzlaff family ended up fleeing Zimbabwe and settling in Chimoio and finally Vilanculos, Mozambique, taking their six horses and rescuing nearly 100 more along the way. It is this family that despite losing everything and starting over too many times to count has still insisted on caring and compassion rather than convenience. And now, heartwarmingly (and with incredible serendipity) the horses that they once rescued from the cruelty of Mugabe's thugs are now providing Pat and Mandy with their livelihood in Mozambique. It seems good karma really does come back around.

And so here I am, a Peace Corps Volunteer who in my spare time helps out a fantastic family and their business however I can, entertaining clients from all over the world, all while using my love of horses and my knack for conversation. The greatness of gratitude thus is not strictly about measuring your debts against your credits. It's about understanding that no matter what you can or cannot offer someone you appreciate what you've been given and the small sacrifices that may have been made for it.


As Elizabeth Gilbert, author of "Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India, and Indonesia," writes rather perfectly:

"In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices."

There's no better place to bring that lesson into relief than in Mozambique. And there's no better teacher than African diaspora.